


The Better Part of What I Never Had

by lyra_wing



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-26 17:37:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3859066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyra_wing/pseuds/lyra_wing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony worries from afar – or, it sometimes takes a hex or two to help folks figure out what they really want.  This is an immediate sequel to the events in Age of Ultron, so there are spoilers for the whole movie in here, obviously.  You have been forewarned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dammit, I knew I would be sucked into this fandom again after watching Age of Ultron. Also, I feel like all of my writing in the MCU fandom has been validated now that it’s canon that Natasha teases Steve and Tony about their codependency. The title is what popped into my mind when I was thinking about titling this story, and nope, I have no idea what it means, either.

It was well past two in the morning when Steve finally exhausted himself enough at the gym to make going back to his quarters and his narrow bed seem slightly appealing. He swiped his access card, and the door gave a small beep before sliding open. The room was completely dark except for the mild blue light coming from the room’s control panel.

And the light coming from two glowing red eyes.

“Gah!” Steve jumped backward instinctively, and winced when he jammed an elbow on the closed door behind him.

The red eyes blinked in confusion.

Steve slapped the room’s control panel to turn on the overhead lights. “Wanda.”

Now that the lights were on, he could see the girl standing in the middle of his living area, hands folded carefully in front of her waist. Wanda’s eyes faded from bloody red to a warm brown. She tilted her head to one side, and said, “I startled you.”

“Well,” said Steve, smiling at little, “guess I’m just not used to folks getting a jump on me.” He began unwinding the cloth strips binding his hands. He gestured over to the small couch in his living area. “Did you want to talk?”

Wanda’s hands twisted together nervously. She made no move to sit on the couch, and was instead darting her gaze from the floor, to the window, to the door, and finally to Steve. Despite her worried posture, she met his eyes and said clearly, “I’m sorry.”

Steve got the feeling she wasn’t talking about sneaking into his room. “About what, exactly?”

“For before, when I hexed you.” Wanda was still wringing her hands but her gaze didn’t waver. “I’m sorry. Your mind still lingers there now. You fear that you missed your chance forever. For a normal life, for someone that really loves you as you are. That, and your fear for your lost friend. They keep you up at night.”

Steve hadn’t thought of it that way until Wanda said it. He had thought the “hex” she put on him was just meant to be a distraction, to get him out of commission so Ultron could make his getaway. But based on what Wanda was saying, it seemed like it was meant to target something deeper.

“Is that what you did? Made me see my fear?” It didn’t _feel_ like it, but the vision he saw certainly wasn’t random, either. Why else would he still dream about it sometimes, and wake up in a cold sweat?

Wanda blinked. She paused, and seemed to be thinking on how to respond. “That’s not quite… it’s hard to explain in words,” she said. “It’s more like… I showed you what makes your heart hurt.”

When she said it, Steve couldn’t help thinking about it again. A dance floor of the dying. An empty ballroom. Missed chances. Waiting too damn long.

As if she could tell where his mind had gone, Wanda offered, hesitatingly, “I could… give you a good dream? To help you sleep.”

“No, no, I’m good.” Steve smiled. He knew she was trying, in her own way, to be a team player, to befriend them. “Just a tip, though: most people don’t like having more than one person in their head.”

Under her breath, Wanda said, wondering to herself, “But why? It’s so horrible, when it’s only you.”

And Steve didn’t need to be psychic to understand where Wanda’s thoughts were trapped. “Wanda…”

Wanda shook her head, and turned to leave. “I’m alright.”

“But you’re not,” said Steve. It said something about this girl, that she would concern herself with the worries and sleepless nights of others, when she had basically lost half of herself, not that long ago. Despite everything that had happened to her, she had held onto her good heart, and didn’t let it get lost or corrupted.

“I will be.” Wanda turned and gave Steve a wobbly upturn of her mouth that was the closest Steve had ever seen to a smile from her. “That will have to be good enough for now.”

In the blink of an eye, she disappeared from the room. The door hadn’t opened or closed—the only sign that anything had happened at all was that the lights had flickered briefly.

Steve shook his head. “Good kid or no, I’m just not going to ever get used to that,” he said.

It took Steve a good minute to realize he was half-expecting someone to respond. But he was alone, and there wasn’t anyone standing by his side anymore.

 

***

 

Steve had an odd night where he was uncomfortably tossing and turning in his bed for most of it. He didn’t think he had actually fallen asleep, but he must have at some point, because when the intercom by his bedside trilled, he startled awake. He didn’t feel like he had gotten any rest at all.

He rubbed his eyes, stretching over blindly to jab at a button. “Rogers here.”

“Rise and shine, old timer,” said Sam’s voice cheerily. He was definitely a morning person, a trait that Steve found kind of endearing. “I got a lead.”

Steve sat up. “Got it, I’m coming.” He swung his legs out of bed and began rooting around for his socks and boots. “And stop with the old man jokes, I get enough of that from Stark.”

“Oh, really? With all the undressing with your eyes that you two do, I’m amazed anyone gets a word in edgewise.”

The laces of Steve’s boots snapped in half in his hand.

“We—do not—!” he spluttered. “We don’t do that.”

“Please. Just be glad I didn’t use the R-rated word that Natasha used.”

“What?” Of all the people that he met since he woke up, Steve thought that he and Sam probably understood each other the best. But there were still times when Steve felt like he was sprinting to catch up with the direction of the conversation.

“Eyefucking,” said Sam simply.

“Oh my god.” Even though there was no one to see him do it, Steve still put a hand over his face.

“Are you turning red right now? Because it’s so bad I can hear you turning red over the intercom.”

Steve had a weird urge to throw his boot at the intercom panel, even though obviously Sam would not see it or feel it. “Just… shut up and suit up.”

 

***

 

In the middle of dense woodland at the edge of Yosemite National Park, Steve waited outside of a small, dilapidated cabin that appeared to have been long abandoned. He looked up, tracking a shadow that circled overhead.

“Perimeter’s clear,” said Sam’s voice on the comm in Steve’s ear.

“Sam Wilson, come on down,” said Steve in an attempt at impersonating a game show host.

“This, this is the kind of pop culture reference you can make,” said Sam. “It’s enough to make a grown man cry.”

“Baby steps, Wilson,” said Natasha, also on the comm. Steve could hear the smirk in her voice even though he couldn’t see it. “We’ll have him on Twitter in no time, I’m sure.”

A moment later, Sam landed in a graceful drop next to Steve. His wings folded back silently upon his landing. The Falcon wings had been upgraded by one Tony Stark from the military-issue pack to a customized set, sleek and efficient. “So, what’ve we got?”

“Nothing. A whole lot of nothing. No one’s here.” Steve tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice but it was clear he wasn’t entirely successful because Sam laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. Steve cocked his head towards the knocked-down door and the dark interior of the cabin. “Natasha’s doing a final sweep of the data banks, just to make sure. She’s almost done.”

“No more ‘almost.’ I’m in,” said Natasha. “Huh. Guys, come back in here. He’s been here.”

“What?” Steve ran inside, down the flight of stairs hiding under a trapdoor, through narrow twisting hallways, and finally to the set of HYDRA servers and data banks hidden well underground. It was eerily similar to Zola’s facility in New Jersey, except this one consisted of modern equipment, gleaming in white and chrome. It was still in active use, or had been until recently. Natasha sat at the central computer. Upon their arrival, she spun around in the swivel chair to face them.

“Man, you guys really booked it,” she said. “What was that, like fifteen seconds?”

“What do you mean, he’s been here?” Steve demanded. He ignored Sam’s slightly wheezing gasps behind him. He was sure Sam was just exaggerating. Pretty sure.

“Look.” Natasha pointed at the screen behind her.

Sam lifted an eyebrow. He was still catching his breath, but he said, “Now, I know I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but that’s a blank screen.”

“Exactly. He wiped the data banks here. Either he copied it over and then deleted it all, or just did a clean wipe. I mean, isn’t it interesting that when we got here, no one was here? It’s a ghost town. But this equipment isn’t old, and it’s not cheap, either. Someone shut this place down, and I don’t think it was HYDRA.” Natasha tapped a few keys, and even Steve knew enough to know that she was shutting the computer back down. “I’m pretty sure it was Barnes. I can’t tell what he took, obviously, because all we’ve got left now is the shell of the operating system. No content at all.”

“Why would he be deleting HYDRA data?” asked Sam. “What’s his stake in it?”

“Maybe to guarantee that HYDRA won’t have the know-how to brainwash him into being their puppet anymore,” said Steve.

Both Sam and Natasha fell silent. Neither of them looked at him, either. The word “puppet” had become kind of taboo, after Ultron, but facts were facts. Steve was a lot of things, but he wasn’t one to sugarcoat.

A rumbling sound from above made them all freeze.

“You hear that?” asked Steve.

“Shit,” said Sam, and he ran back out and upstairs.

Steve and Natasha dashed after him, and they ascended the final staircase into the tiny cabin to see Sam looking out of one grimy window, at the woods towards the south.

“Incoming. Two unmarked trucks and a tank.” Sam swore again and pulled his goggles down over his eyes. “Alright, kids. Let’s get dangerous.”

“Darkwing Duck, really?” said Natasha, and before Steve could ask them what in the world they were talking about, a whine and a _ding_ of a ricocheting bullet rebounding off of one of the cabin’s water pipes interrupted them.

Steve unhooked his shield and used it to cover Natasha and himself from the incoming hail of bullets. Someone out there had a machine gun. “I thought you said the perimeter was clear!” Steve shouted over the noise.

“That was like fifteen minutes ago!” Sam retorted. He was ducking as well, turning his back to use the plated steel of his wings to protect himself. “The amazing thing about trucks is that they can move at a hundred miles an hour!” 

“Less snarking, more attacking, fellas!” Natasha ducked out from underneath Steve’s shield and made her way to the window, beginning to return fire.

 

***

 

“And… it just blew up? Just like that?” Rhodey was giving Steve what Steve’s ma used to call the hairy eyeball. It was strange—Rhodey’s look was so similar to the look he used to get from his ma when he came home from school with a new black eye that Steve felt a weird sense of déjà vu for a second.

“Well,” said Steve, hedging, “no, I set the fuel tank on fire and _then_ it blew up.”

Rhodey leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his forehead.

“What? HYDRA decided to house one of their data servers underneath a national park. That isn’t my fault.”

“You burnt up a good hundred acres of a protected wildlife area, Captain.”

Steve winced a little. “I know.”

“The environmental groups are already up in arms about the whole ordeal. You have to understand, they don’t care who started it, only that it happened. We were involved and we’re the only ones upstanding enough to hang around and admit accountability for it. Sure as shit isn’t going to be HYDRA. And after we left a crater in Eastern Europe, we don’t have a lot of goodwill left.”

“We didn’t do that, either,” Steve felt obligated to point out.

“I know. I’m meeting with the UN tomorrow to try to convince them of that.” Given his position in the military and his popularity with the public and with politicians —both inside the War Machine suit and outside of it—Rhodey became the Avengers’ de facto liaison with most governmental powers. He had done it without being asked, and was so good at it that Steve was happy to let him continue that role.

“Thanks, Rhodey. We do appreciate it.”

“Not a problem.” Rhodey leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling, shaking his head and laughing a little bit. Steve knew that look well—it was a look that said _I can’t really believe this is my life right now._ “Believe it or not, it’s a hell of a lot easier to deal with the Avengers’ messes than with Tony’s.”

“Really?” That was surprising. Tony had gotten into scrapes on his own, and they had all made headlines, but none of them had caused the global havoc that the Avengers managed to cause whenever they got together.

“Sure. People actually like the Avengers.” Rhodey straightened and got up from the conference table. He picked up his ever-expanding folio of files for various meetings and briefings. “Oh, and speaking of the devil, you better give him a call. He hates hearing news secondhand.”

“What?” Steve’s palms were suddenly sweating, which was… bizarre. “Th-there isn’t any news, really…” He rubbed his hands on the outsides of his trousers. He thought he was doing it discreetly, but Rhodey’s eyes flicked down, noticing it.

Rhodey smirked. “Just… call him,” he said. He gave Steve a wave over his shoulder as he left the conference room. “Trust me.”

 

***

 

“I’m gone for one week and you go blowing up bears without me?”

That was the first thing Tony said when he picked up Steve’s call.

“I didn’t—there weren’t bears!” 

“You don’t know that for sure. In the hundred-plus acres you burned to the ground, there were probably bears. Unless you did a survey of the bear population beforehand as part of your recon, which I actually wouldn’t put past you, you… Eagle Scout.” Tony said the last two words like they were a deep insult.

“I didn’t do a survey of the bear population,” said Steve, just barely holding back a sigh.

“Then I’m ashamed to know you, you bear killer.”

This wasn’t how Steve had imagined this conversation would go. That was often what happened with Tony—Steve just couldn’t predict what he was going to say or do. It made talking to him... really infuriating, sometimes. This wasn’t one of those times, but Steve nonetheless felt… warm. Like the temperature gauge in the room was wrong. He unbuttoned one of the top buttons of his shirt.

“What’re you doing right now?” 

Steve jumped, hand flying away from his shirt guiltily. He had a second of paranoia that Tony could see him. But that was silly.

“Waiting for the doc. I’m actually sitting on an examination table right now. Just a final check-up before I’m cleared.”

“What do you mean?” Tony asked, voice suddenly sounding sharp in Steve’s ear.

“Nothing. I got burned a little when we were making our getaway.” Steve lifted the bottom hem of his shirt, examining the new pink skin that was already healing over the burns on the left side of his torso. “My uh, uniform kind of melted into my skin. It hurt like the dickens to peel it off, but I’m healing fine.”

“‘Like the dickens,’ he says,” said Tony in a mutter. In a normal tone of voice, he added, “That’s what you get for stealing a 1940s-era suit from the Museum of American History.”

“How did you—?” How did Tony know that? It also made Steve think. “Also, how did you know how much acreage was burned? I thought Rhodey was trying to keep the details out of the news.”

Tony snorted. “Please. I practically built the whole Avengers facility, if you recall. If you don’t think I’ve got a direct wire into everything you’re doing, you… well, you’re just super naïve, and I’m shocked that SHIELD-slash-HYDRA-slash-the entire world in general hasn’t beaten that out of you yet. By the way, you shouldn’t limit your singing to the shower; you’ve got a good voice.”

“You are _not_ —” Okay, no two ways about it, talking to Tony was infuriating. Why was it so hot in here?

“No, no, I’m not,” said Tony, chuckling a little, and his voice was just… warm. Steve could _feel_ it, all over him. “Just a lucky guess. I have some scruples after all. Who knew? Damn crying shame.”

Steve didn’t recognize his own voice when he asked, hoarsely, “So you’re saying you _want_ to—“

“Captain?” The door to the examination room opened and a nurse popped his head inside. “The doctor will be with you shortly.”

“Um, I’ve gotta go,” said Steve into the phone, and he hung up before he could stuff his foot any further into his mouth.

 

***

 

About a week later, Steve went down to the rec room and found Sam there. The TV had been reprogrammed, split into sixteen different news feeds in different languages. Sam was lying on the couch, laptop on his lap and a bowl of popcorn on the floor beside him.

“Hey,” he said when he saw Steve come in. “Package for you, over on the pool table.”

“What’re you doing?” Steve asked. Sure enough, there was a medium-sized shipping container set down on the middle of the green velvet of the pool table. He began peeling back the packing tape.

“Oh, just got bored sitting in the research labs. Thought a change of scenery would do me some good.”

“Sam, I really appreciate you helping out with the search, but you don’t have to spend all your free time looking into—” Steve pried the container open. “What the hell is this.”

“What?” Sam sat up and went over to join Steve. As soon as he saw the contents of the container, he started laughing. And laughing.

That was actually quite a lot of laughing.

The contents of shipping container were: a fire extinguisher, a bunch of adult-sized Eagle Scout uniforms, and a stack of t-shirts illustrated with what looked like the head of a cartoon bear wearing a ranger hat.

There wasn’t a return address label on the container, but Steve knew this could’ve only come from one person. “Goddamn it, Stark.”

“Oh… c’mon, he got you pretty good. This is… it’s pretty damn priceless.” Sam was still chuckling.

“Okay, I get the other stuff, but what’s this?” Steve held up the cartoon bear t-shirts.

“Really? You haven’t seen this yet? Smokey the Bear. ‘Only you can prevent forest fires,’” said Sam. At Steve’s blank look, Sam sighed and said, “It’s a mascot for a national campaign to raise awareness for forest fire prevention.”

At that point, Steve wasn’t really listening to what Sam was saying, because after he had moved the shirts aside, he saw what lay at the bottom of the container. He picked up the bolt of red, white, and blue fabric, and unrolled it. A note fell out, written in Tony’s spiky handwriting.

_I don’t generally recommend self-immolation, but in case you go setting yourself on fire again, this should stand up to the task._

Sam snatched the note out of Steve’s hand.

“Hey!” said Steve, and Sam pushed a hand in Steve’s face, keeping him away while he read the note.

“What’s going on?” asked Natasha, who, of course, decided to walk into the rec room just then.

“Steve’s boyfriend sent him a present,” said Sam, and there were just so many things wrong with that sentence that Steve didn’t know where to begin protesting. “New flame-retardant suit.”

Natasha peeked into the container and grinned. Then, because she was Natasha, she produced a lighter from somewhere and flicked it on. She held it up to the new uniform.

“Hey!” said Steve, again, for all the good it was doing.

“Huh, look at that,” said Natasha, running the flame up and down the fabric, which appeared to have no visible reaction to the fire. “You know, despite Tony being… Tony, he really is a genius. The fabric’s made out of microplating. It’s definitely an improvement over your old one.”

“I liked my old one,” said Steve, because he did, and because… he just felt really confused at the moment. Like many interactions with Tony, Steve felt like Tony was simultaneously laughing at him and laughing with him. Nonetheless, Steve took out his phone and sent a message.

_Thanks for the package._

It didn’t take long at all for Steve’s phone to buzz with a reply.

_The package came from Smokey, not me. He was offended on behalf of his brethren. Also, let me repeat: self-immolation is not recommended._

“Why are you grinning like a doofus?”

Steve snapped his head up at Natasha’s voice. “Um, nothing. I’m… nothing. I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re such a horrible liar that it’s kind of refreshing.” Natasha reached up and patted Steve on the cheek. “Next time maybe you can fall off a cliff or something, and then we can get a second quinjet.” She handed the suit over to Steve and gave him a wink before picking up a stack of books that had been piled on the coffee table and leaving the rec room.

Which left Steve with Sam, who was giving him that knowing look he had. It made Steve feel like Sam could see inside his head, even better than Wanda could.

“It doesn’t…” Steve started. “He gave you new wings! It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Whatever you need to keep telling yourself, man,” said Sam.

 


	2. Chapter 2

After that first package, it started to become a “thing,” as Sam put it. (Steve wasn’t sure how calling it a “thing” meant anything in particular, but he had learned to just go along with modern slang and accept it as presented.)

Every time something went awry on a mission, Steve got some kind of delivery from Tony. More often than not, a useful and practical invention was buried among the gag gifts. When Dr. Doom fried all their comms in the middle of a mission, Tony sent tin-can phones tied together with string, walkie-talkies, a rotary phone, and a brand new set of earpieces that sounded clearer than before and were resistant to electrical charges. When the team was accosted by sea monsters (honestly, some days, Steve didn’t know if he was awake or dreaming a really elaborate dream), Steve received a container with scuba gear, wet suits, fish food, and incredibly useful mouthpieces that looked like oversized mouth-guards but allowed the wearer to breathe underwater.

But Tony only ever sent a package when something went wrong. When everything went right and everyone escaped unscathed, Steve heard nothing from Tony at all. And they hadn’t spoken to each other since that one phone call a couple of months ago.

Finally, Steve broke down and called him. “Enough already.”

“Well, hello to you, too, stranger,” said Tony. He sounded like he was in his workshop—his voice was distant, like he was on speaker phone, and Steve could hear the hiss of a blowtorch. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I got the… the costumes.” Steve was looking at the container as he spoke. “Very funny, ha-ha.”

“Actually, it’s freakin' hilarious.” Clint, who was visiting the Avengers facility with his new baby son in tow, was holding up one of the—oh god, they looked like, like… things to stick over nipples, and they had _tassels_ —to examine. Nathaniel, who was strapped to Clint’s chest, let out a loud giggle and tried to grab at the… tassel.

They were tassels, just tassels, and Steve resolutely refused to even let his mind imagine how or where they were supposed to be… worn.

“See, Barton agrees,” said Tony, who had overheard Clint. “Look, you can’t tell me it won’t be appreciated. Someday, there may be a really important undercover op where your ability to shred half of your uniform will become a vital asset—which, _how_ by the way? That shit’s made out of a microfiber infused with a titanium alloy and _yet_ you still managed to—”

Steve rubbed a hand over his face and held back a sigh. “Tony, are you trying to tell me something?”

“That you should take up part-time employment at Chippendale’s? I mean, I think the sentiment is implied.”

And Steve only understood that reference because of a comment (well, several comments) made about him online after their last battle with giant insectoid aliens with metallic pincers that managed to rip off half of his uniform. There was an idle kind of… tone, in Tony’s voice, like he was mentally picturing it, and how did someone manage to _leer_ with their voice alone?

Steve flushed hotly. “No, I mean… I never hear from you unless I do something wrong,” he said. 

“Well, to be fair, your batting average isn’t—”

“If you’re trying to make a point that we can’t do this without you, then fine, yes, I’d like you to be here,” said Steve. “You make the team better, but you’re the one that decided to—”

“I’m not—that wasn’t—” Tony sounded closer now, like he had picked up the phone and taken it off speaker. He blew a breath through his teeth, making a _whoosh_ over the line. “Jesus, sometimes it’s like talking to a brick wall,” he muttered, and Steve was about to point out how truly hilarious that _Tony_ was saying that to _him_ , but before he could do so, Tony continued, “First, and more importantly, did you just give me a compliment?”

Clint, hearing the change in tone of the conversation, warily put the costumes down and mouthed to Steve, _I’m gonna go now_. He pointed out the door, to indicate where he was going, and left.

“I—”

“No, don’t answer that. Just let me live in the delusion that you did,” said Tony. “Second, I’m just trying to help. Sometimes I go a little overboard because I need to find ways to entertain myself or I’m going to go apeshit in the middle of the ten millionth board meeting I have to attend. No malicious aforethought went into anything.”

“Oh.”

Steve had made wrong assumptions about Tony too many times, and he thought he was finally getting to understand the guy, but here he was again, completely off-base.

Tony snorted. “Yeah, ‘oh.’”

“I… Can I ask you something, then?”

“You can always ask.” What Tony left unsaid, but Steve understood anyway, was that he was not promising he would answer.

“If you hate the corporate life, then why aren’t you here? With us?”

“I’m not—” Tony didn’t say anything for a second. When he spoke again, his voice had gone sardonic and… distant. Steve didn’t like it. “We all know I’m not the best team player.” 

“That’s not tr—” At Tony’s barked laugh, Steve stopped and amended, “Okay, that’s kind of true. But you’re a team player in the ways that really matter. I… I’m better when you’re here with me. I need someone to challenge me.”

“Was that a proposal, Cap? Because this is all so sudden—”

“C’mon, I’m being serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not being serious?” Tony’s voice had changed again, gone soft, and it sounded like his mouth was pressed right against Steve’s ear, and Steve was having trouble keeping up with the number of turns this conversation was taking. Tony laughed a little bit, mostly to himself, but Steve _felt_ it, like Tony had hotwired his mouth to Steve’s body, and Steve was _not_ going to fixate on that mental image. “You know, it’s weird, sometimes I think…”

“You think…?” Steve’s ear felt hot where it was pressed against the phone, and his pulse was jumping in this throat, out of his control.

“No, nothing.” Tony’s tone turned chipper again, and it was like the last minute hadn’t even happened. “Listen, Steve, you’re all better off without me. Trust me on this one.”

That wasn’t true, but Steve had no idea how to convince Tony of that. “Tony—”

“Now, go forth and… avenge something.” There was a rustling sound on Tony’s end of the line. “Happy is making a hand gesture at me that either means ‘wrap it up’ or ‘we should go make pasta’—what? don’t roll your eyes at me, Hogan, I’m sure there’s a hand gesture for that in Italy—so I’m gonna go.”

“Tony, wait—” But Steve found himself talking to the dull hum of a dead line.

It was funny, yet not funny at all, how that sound had not changed at all in over seventy years.

 

***

 

After that, Steve didn’t hear from Tony for weeks—no calls, no mail, nothing. Maybe it was better this way, he thought to himself. It was better to have a clean break. And it was a ridiculous thought to have—it wasn’t like they were _breaking up_ or something, but in some ways, it felt like it.

Steve looked up from reviewing the energy spike readouts that Vision and Sam had collected, and jerked backward when he saw Natasha leaning over the conference table, her face inches from his. She didn’t move, and continued to watch him closely.

“What?” asked Steve warily. “Do I have something on my face?”

Natasha’s expression was completely blank, and her voice was a flat monotone when she said, “Tony broke up with Pepper.”

“He—” Steve’s voice cracked on the word, high and scratchy. He cleared his throat, and shuffled the papers in front of him. “I mean. What does that have to do with me?”

“Hmm.” Natasha leaned back. Then she left the conference room without another word.

Steve felt weirdly off-balance, like he was suffering from temporary vertigo, but he wasn’t sure why. “You can’t just walk away after saying something like that!”

Natasha poked her head back inside the room. She smirked, as if she had won something, and said innocently, “But I thought it had nothing to do with you, right?”

Having achieved her victory, she disappeared again. Steve, for his part, sighed and buried his face in his hands, and tried to ignore the fact that his skin felt flushed to the touch.

 

***

 

They were in an abandoned missile silo in eastern Ukraine, led here by spikes in energy output that matched the pattern and type of energy that had been detected in the suburbs of Washington, D.C. when SHIELD had fallen apart, that were likely the same kinds of energy surges needed to power cerebral recalibration equipment and cryostasis machines. At least, that’s what Vision told Steve upon reviewing the data. It was a closer lead than anything else they had found before.

“If this is another dead end, I don’t…” Steve let the thought trail away, because he wasn’t sure how to finish it. Some days, he just felt really… tired. He felt every single one of the ninety-seven years that he had technically lived.

Sam jostled into his side gently, letting their elbows knock together. “Hey. If it’s another dead end, then we’ll just keep looking, right?” he said. “Look. We know Barnes is alive and kicking _somewhere_ in this world, so it’s only a matter of time before we figure out where.”

“Yeah. I know. I’m... glad you’re here, Sam.”

Sam grinned. “I have a thing for hopeless charity cases, what can I say?” he said, and before Steve could reply, he shot up into the sky, wings spread wide.

“You know, Romanov, Vision, and I are here, too,” said Rhodey on the comm. “Just in case you were wondering.”

Steve shook his head, grinning. “I’m sorry, thank you to all of you. I really appreciate it.”

“If you fellas are done sharing your feelings, Vision and I are in position.” Natasha was supposed to cover the rear exit in case anyone—Bucky or HYDRA or whatever else—tried to escape, while Vision covered the front. Rhodey and Sam were providing aerial surveillance and back-up. “Whenever you’re ready, Cap.”

Steve entered the silo, climbing over the front gate, darting across the interior field, and slipping through the front double doors without making a sound. The ground floor was quiet, and there were empty storage crates and cages—probably what held the missiles—littered everywhere. The room was dusty and dark and devoid of any signs of life. Steve continued on, silently climbing up the metal staircase to the second floor catwalk. The mission wasn’t to go in guns blazing, but to do some basic recon and see what was creating the power surges.

That plan went entirely out the window when Steve saw a shadowy figure at the other end of the catwalk. The figure was wearing a dark coat, and had a gleaming bald head, with skin the color of fresh blood. 

Steve felt his stomach drop out of his body with a sickening lurch. It wasn’t possible—was it? But Steve knew, deep down, that yes, it was possible, and there was only one person this could be. 

With more bravado than he felt, he called out firmly, “Schmidt.”

The figure turned, and a gleaming red skull grinned at him with bright white teeth.

“Ah, Captain America. The years have been kind to us both, have they not?” Red Skull said. He stepped forward, spreading his arms wide and presenting himself, and indeed, he didn’t look any different at all. His features were exactly the same as Steve remembered them. “And your little friend, what was his name? It seems that Erskine’s serum truly survives the test of time.”

Steve threw the shield before he knew what he was doing. “Where the hell is Bucky?”

Red Skull dodged, ducking neatly out of the way without even needing to take his hands out of his pockets. The shield zinged past him and embedded itself with a _thunk_ in the wooden wall behind Red Skull.

“Temper, Captain, temper,” said Red Skull. “I don’t know where the Winter Soldier is. But what I _do_ know? Is that you’ve been searching the world over for him, so what better way to draw you and your friends out to play than to plant false leads thinking you’re tracking him?”

Steve felt his heart seize up. Oh god, he was an _idiot_ , why did he lead everyone here? He yelled into his comm, “It’s—”

Red Skull’s convivial manner devolved into a vicious snarl. “And I now I have you right where I want you.”

“—Natasha, get everyone _out_ , it’s a trap!”

“Auf Wiedersehen, Captain,” said Red Skull, and he pulled a pin on what looked like a grenade, but instead of a normal explosion, the grenade gave off a painful high-pitched whine and the world shattered apart in a flash of blinding white light.

 

***

 

It seemed like no time had passed at all—one second, Steve’s vision whited out, and the next second, he was opening his eyes and staring up at bland beige tiles and fluorescent panel lights. For a moment, Steve thought his ears were ringing and that he punctured an ear drum or something, but he lowered his gaze and realized the sound was the hum of monitors. He was lying in a hospital bed, and he wasn’t alone.

“Tony?”

Tony was standing at the end of Steve’s bed, dressed in slacks, shirt, and a loosened tie. He glanced up from where he was flipping through Steve’s medical chart. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“I don’t—“ Steve tried to sit up, and Tony immediately moved forward and put a hand on his shoulder to push him back down. Huh. Either Steve was out of it, or Tony was stronger than Steve realized. “But Red Skull is—”

“Oh, he’s dead. We made for goddamn sure this time.” Tony glanced over his shoulder. “Right, bud?”

There was a third person in the room. Steve wasn’t sure why he hadn’t noticed earlier. ( _No, you know why, it’s because when he’s in the room it’s like everything else becomes dull and dim in comparison_.) Vision had been standing by the window, looking through the blinds at the rainy afternoon outside. When Tony spoke to him, he stepped forward to stand on the other side of Steve’s bed, arms crossed over his chest.

“Red Skull… met an untimely, but very definite, end.” Vision didn’t sound particularly happy or particularly sad about that fact. Steve was only just beginning to understand more about how Vision viewed the world, but he knew enough to know that Vision mourned any loss of life, good or bad. The only reason Vision would take a life would be to stop more lives from being lost.

“Meaning he was vaporized into individual molecules by the Mind Gem,” said Tony.

Vision frowned slightly. “Technically, that isn’t what I—”

“I think I liked you better when you just agreed with everything I said.” Tony went over to the bank of monitors beside Steve’s bed and, slightly worryingly, began fiddling with them, pushing at the touch screen, swiping through the readouts. No alarms sounded, though, so Steve figured he was alright for the time being.

Vision lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not JARVIS.”

Tony turned away from the monitors. He smiled a little ruefully, and said, in an uncharacteristically kind voice, “I know that.”

Then, in complete contrast to the gentle way he treated the Vision, Tony went back to the monitors and began aggressively jabbing buttons and turning dials.

“Um, are you sure you should be doing that?” Steve craned his head to try to get a better look at what Tony was doing. “What if you accidentally… uh, kill me?”

“Oh, so _now_ you have a concern for your life?” Tony’s back was turned to Steve, so Steve couldn’t see his face, but the set of his shoulders was tense and his voice was brittle and sharp in a way that only ever seemed to happen when he was talking to Steve. In fact, Steve couldn’t recall Tony ever using that tone of voice with anyone but him.

“What?” asked Steve, completely bewildered.

“I’ll… give you two a moment.” Vision nodded his head in acknowledgement to Steve, and said, “I’m glad to see you on the mend, Captain,” before he turned and left the room.

“You’re angry,” said Steve, trying to get a bearing on what in the world was going on. In response, Tony just snorted. Steve added, “With me? _Why_? What the hell did I do?”

“Here’s a lesson for you.” Tony whirled around, finger raised. His voice was low and tight. “If you want to be a superhero, you need to stop having the self-preservation instincts of a goddamn fruit fly.”

“I—”

“I know you’ve got the super-juice, but you’re _not_ a god, and you can’t go running around like—”

“You know what?” Steve said, starting to get angry himself. “I’m just doing the best I can with what I’ve got. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, and some days, I feel like I’m herding a bunch of cats, except all the cats have _super powers_ , so if you want to criticize, then you should _be here_ and help me.”

This seemed to derail Tony’s rant. He leaned back, and lowered his hand.

Steve realized he had been yelling, and he took a breath. In a quieter voice, he said, “I want you here.” 

Tony blinked. He looked completely thrown, and if the context were different, the confused expression on his face would be kind of funny.

But Tony didn’t protest or argue, so Steve continued, “I get the feeling you want to be here, too, so why aren’t you?”

“I—” Tony shook his head. He looked away from Steve, towards the door, and wouldn’t meet his gaze again. “I can’t. I… have to go.”

He left before Steve could say another word.

 

***

 

On the second night after Steve woke up in the hospital—the doctors insisted he stay until they were sure his vitals were normal and stable, and he could tell from the way Sam had hovered during visiting hours and from the tight press of Natasha’s mouth that he had a really close call, so he didn’t argue—he opened his eyes to see Wanda sitting on the visitor’s chair by his bed.

She was… levitating surgical instruments, watching them spin idly in the air. It was extremely unnerving to wake up to a dark room and see scalpels and knives floating around, but Steve tried to not let it show on his face.

Although Wanda didn’t look at him when he woke, she said, “Do you know what he dreamed of?”

“What?” Steve tried to sit up a little. It was the middle of the night, and he wondered if he was still dreaming.

“He dreamed of your death.” Wanda glanced at him, and her eyes were an unsettling glowing red. 

She waved a hand, and the surgical instruments floated gently down to settle on the table at the far end of the room.

Steve understood now, and he didn’t have to ask who the ‘he’ was. “My—”

“That’s his fear, to watch the light go out of your eyes, knowing he could’ve stopped it but he didn’t. He fears being the last man standing, carrying that burden, alone at the end of all things.” Her voice was quiet and her eyes, although they were glowing, were faraway, like she was watching something that Steve could not. Her words were heavy, weighted with echoes of meaning, and Steve thought of the oracles in Greek mythology that he used to read about, and he felt goosebumps break out all over his skin. “He fears for all of you, but especially… especially you.”

Steve leaned back in his bed. He looked up at the ceiling, staring at it without really seeing it.

“I thought he was a horrible man, for so long, but—” Wanda’s voice suddenly broke, and when Steve looked back at her, he was surprised to see the shine of unshed tears in her eyes. “I… I feel sorry for him. And I’m so sorry, I’m sorry for hurting him, for hurting all of you.”

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. Wanda.” Steve reached out and took her hand, which felt cold and so _small_ in his, and squeezed it gently. “You can’t be sorry forever. We all make mistakes.” Steve tried to laugh, but it came out wrong, dry and weak. “Even me.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not… it’s…” Steve was her leader, and he wasn’t about to burden her with his own personal problems. So he just shook his head, and said, without clarifying, “I just… I don’t know what to do.”

But maybe he didn’t need to explain. This was Wanda, after all. She looked at him, with eyes that were much older than the face that held them, and she squeezed his hand in return.

“Yes, you do,” she said.

 

***

 

Steve was admitted up to the penthouse suite of the Tower—now reclaimed for Stark Industries—by FRIDAY, who chirped, “Good evening, Captain Rogers,” before opening the elevator doors for him.

The main living area of the penthouse was empty and dark. Steve noticed a light down the hall, and followed it. He pushed the door open, and saw Tony sitting on his bed, in the middle of unknotting his tie. 

Seeing Tony sitting there with his shirt half undone made Steve’s brain stutter to a halt. “Um, hey.”

Tony, if he was surprised to see Steve, recovered from it quickly and merely lifted an eyebrow. “Very suave opening line there, soldier.”

“You… look nice?” 

This was not true. Tony actually looked pretty horrible. He had looked tired before in the hospital, but now he looked even worse. He had dark circles under his eyes, his pallor was pale underneath his tan, and even though it was clear from his clothes that he had just been at some kind of event, his hair was mussed and his beard was unkempt, stubble marring its normally clean lines, like he couldn’t be bothered to care about appearance anymore.

“Marginally better, if only because it’s a complete bald-faced lie. Points for the blatant flattery, which will get you anywhere.” Tony ran a hand over his mouth. He was looking anywhere but at Steve. “If this is about me joining up with the Avengers again, I’ve already told you, I’m not—”

“It’s not,” said Steve. “I just.”

He had to do this before he lost his nerve. And somehow it was less scary than he thought it would be, mostly because it was _Tony_ , who was sitting there, looking as lost as Steve felt, and who was contrary and infuriating and narcissistic but also generous and brilliant and unfailingly kind and who always had so much trouble believing in his own good qualities. So it was easy, really, to cross the length of the room to stand in front of Tony, and lean forward, bracing one hand on the mattress, next to Tony’s hip.

Tony looked up at him. They were practically nose-to-nose, and he didn’t lean back, exactly, but Steve could tell he wanted to. “What are you doing?” he asked, and his voice was soft, like a secret.

“Thank you for worrying about me,” murmured Steve, and kissed Tony before either of them could overthink it.

And oh, it was—Steve didn’t know why he had waited so long to do this. It was like the soft, wet heat of Tony’s mouth was waking up nerve endings all over his body, tiny fireworks going off in his veins and lighting him up inside. He put a hand on Tony’s shoulder, more to keep from overbalancing and falling over than for any other reason, idly rubbing his thumb in slow circles over Tony’s throat, and Tony groaned, and abruptly tore his mouth away.

“Am I hallucinating? Am I having a stroke right now? Because I don’t _feel_ like I’m having a stroke—”

Steve had to smile. “Pretty sure you’re in possession of all your mental faculties.”

“Oh, that’s good then,” Tony said. “Come here, soldier, we’re going to bed.” He wrapped an arm around Steve’s neck and pulled him into another kiss. 

Steve jerked back, turning red. “I—what?” To some degree, he supposed he had expected this, was prepared for this, otherwise why would he start kissing someone in their bedroom, but—

“To sleep. We’re going to bed to sleep.” Tony smiled wryly. “Not to say I wouldn’t love to jump your bones right now, but I can barely keep my eyes open. I, uh… I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately.” The last part was said reluctantly, and Steve knew Tony hated admitting things like he needed food or sleep or anything that suggested he was human like everyone else, so he felt touched that Tony would even trust him enough to admit that.

Steve smiled a little. “You don’t say.”

 

***

 

They both slept for twelve hours straight.

 

***

 

When Steve woke up, it was early afternoon, if the amount of sunlight in the room was any indication. The sun was streaming through the large set of windows on the far wall. Tony was still asleep—he had actually fallen asleep on Steve’s arm, curled on his side with his back to Steve, and Steve’s arm had gone numb from his weight, but he found that he didn’t mind at all. Steve didn’t move, and instead shut his eyes to the bright light. He muttered, “FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers?” FRIDAY’s voice was quiet as well.

“Can you shut the blinds, or do I have to get up?”

“The shades are automated, Captain. Just one moment.”

As promised, the shades began rolling down, slowly sinking the room back into a peaceful darkness.

Tony stirred, waking up a little. He looked over his shoulder at Steve. “Hey,” he said, voice scratchy from sleep.

“Smooth opening line,” said Steve. He turned into Tony, and put an arm around Tony’s middle, holding him to his chest, because he could do this now, right?

Apparently he could, because Tony just leaned back into him, settling in. “Mm, I always knew you were a smartass, but no one believed me.” Tony’s eyes were closed and he sounded groggy, but there was a smile in his voice.

Steve smiled back, even though Tony wasn’t looking at him. He stroked his hand over Tony’s stomach, lingering on the strip of exposed skin between the gap of Tony’s t-shirt and his shorts. Touching Tony like this was such a novel sensation, warm and _alive_ , and when he felt Tony’s stomach jump and his breathing hitch as he continued to explore, something in Steve’s heart squeezed tight and wouldn’t let go.

And oh, Tony was hard. Steve hadn’t realized it at first, because the sheets had been covering them, but when his hand passed lower, he could feel it, tenting Tony’s underwear, and Steve didn’t really have any conscious thought, only knowing what he wanted, when he hooked his first two fingers on the band of Tony’s shorts and dragged them down, over his hip, low enough to let his cock free. 

It was somehow intimidating to go straight to—Steve instead dragged his hand over Tony’s hipbone, stroking down to the crease of the juncture of his thigh, where Tony’s skin was even warmer.

The whole time, Tony didn’t move—actually, Steve wasn’t sure if Tony was even breathing. They were pressed chest-to-back, and Tony was quiet, shaking with fine tremors from the effort of holding still, and Steve found that infinitely endearing. He pressed a kiss to Tony’s shoulder, smelling the warm, sleepy scent of him, and took Tony’s erection in hand, stroking once, adjusting to the different feel and heft of him.

“Tell me what you like.” Steve’s face, where it was buried in Tony’s shoulder, felt like it was on fire, but he was determined to make this good, to make Tony feel good.

Tony laughed a little wildly, sounding lost. “I like—oh, I like a lot of things,” he said, and he reached back, cupping Steve’s hip and pulling him in, encouraging him. “Just, keep—keep doing that, god.”

Steve groaned. Pressed his face into Tony’s neck and stroked him again and again, building a rhythm, dragging his thumb over the slit with every upstroke. 

“Oh fucking— _Christ_.” Tony swore, twisting his body into Steve’s grip and turning his face into the pillow.

“Your, you feel so good.” Steve had never been this aroused in his life. He felt his pulse hammering in every part of his body, but especially in his cock, and a choked off moan escaped his mouth when Tony’s movements pressed the warm swell of his ass against Steve’s erection.

“Faster, just—”

“Oh god.” Steve’s hand was wet, slick with the precome leaking from Tony’s cock, and it just made it that much easier to do as Tony asked, jerking him off with sharp, quick strokes.

Tony panted harshly. He tilted his head back onto Steve’s shoulder and gasped, mindlessly, “Fuck, I—”

“God, Tony, I want to make you come on me—”

“Oh my _god_ —” groaned Tony, and then he was coming, back arched, blurting wet on Steve’s hand and into the sheets. Steve carried him through it, jerking his cock until Tony stopped shuddering against him.

Steve hadn’t even taken his hand away, when he felt Tony reach back and pull Steve’s shorts down. “Wait, Tony—urgk.”

A really undignified sound escaped his mouth because Tony had licked his palm and stroked Steve’s erection with his spit-slicked hand.

“Shut up, you… just, just give it to me—” Tony said through gritted teeth, and he rolled his hips backwards into Steve, pushing back so Steve’s cock slid into the cleft of his ass, between his legs. “Give it to me like you want to.”

“Oh my god.” Steve, feeling like he was running a high fever, mostly delirious, insane, couldn’t stop his hips screwing in, and in, into the wet heat between Tony’s legs, the head of his cock rubbing into Tony’s balls with every thrust, and oh god, the bed was shuddering underneath them, he was going to break it but he couldn’t stop and he didn’t _care_ —

Tony caught his rhythm, pushed back into him, and turned his head to kiss him, just in time to have Steve moan into his mouth, coming, cock jerking between Tony’s legs.

“Atta boy,” said Tony, who was maybe half-delirious too, smiling against Steve’s lips.

 

***

 

It was a little while later when Steve felt the bed shift. He opened his eyes. “Tony?”

The other side of the bed was empty. Steve heard the sound of a sink running.

He got up and followed the sound to the bathroom. He found Tony standing there, leaning forward, both hands braced on the edges of the sink, still dressed in the t-shirt and boxers he had slept in. He looked up, met Steve’s gaze in the reflection of the bathroom mirror.

“What are we doing?” Tony asked.

“What do you mean?” Steve had been expecting a lot of different reactions after… after, but this wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t sure how to describe the look in Tony’s eyes. If nothing else, Tony just seemed… sad.

“This… this can’t last. You know that, Steve.”

“Well, nothing lasts, really, in the end.” Steve cautiously came closer. Tony made no move to run or bolt, so Steve put a hand on Tony’s hip, bringing him close and resting his chin on Tony’s shoulder so they could look at each other in the mirror. “But that’s what makes it worth having, right?”

 _I’m not letting you run away from me before we even get anywhere, so don’t even try._

Tony didn’t say anything in response. But it seemed like he heard the unspoken message, because he reached for the hand Steve had on his hip and covered it with his own, holding on, and Steve could feel the unspoken promise made in return.

 

-fin-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I apologize, this story took a turn for the angsty in part 2, but I couldn’t help it—the upcoming Civil War is looming in my mind. This was the best happy ending I could manage, under these circumstances. And yes, I subscribe to the theory that we haven’t seen the last of Red Skull in the MCU. And I also subscribe to the theory that, despite being a USO fella, Steve would not know the word for pasties, the poor dear.
> 
> Edited to add: Thanks for all the nice comments, everyone!


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